Pieces
by TromellaGavin
Summary: After the incident that took his father's life, Miles Edgeworth struggles to become the perfect prosecutor he is expected to be, while trying to piece together what really happened on December 28th.
1. The Prologue

_Italics- thoughts_

**_bold and italics- dream_**

**_--_**

**_*bang*  
*darkness*  
_**"Is he awake yet?"  
"No… neither of them are."  
_He could faintly hear the words being spoken by two unknown people. The words echoed in his head, and he struggled to comprehend them. 'Neither of them were awake'… Neither… himself… and who? Father? Father!_

_***Bang*  
"Aghh!!!"  
*Darkness***_

_He was slowly slipping in and out of consciousness. He couldn't feel anything. But he could hear everything._

_***Bang*  
"Aghh!!!"  
**A noise… a gunshot… one single gunshot. Coming from… where? It seemed to be coming… from the back of his head!  
**"Agghhh!"  
**Who was screaming?! It seemed to be playing over and over inside his head… a gunshot, a scream, then… nothing. He could't be dreaming, it felt so… real. And he could faintly hear the two voices from before talking to each other, but he couldn't understand the words they were sayin them anymore. He was slipping out of consciousness again.  
**"Wh…what are you doing?!!?"  
"Stop… breathing…my… air!!!!!!"**_

_**No…! He had to save him… he had to do something…  
*Bang!*  
*Darkness*  
He was surrounded by darkness… everything was closing in around him… he could see nothing. He was in a box… no, a room… no, an elevator? The darkness disappeared, and his father was lying on the ground… dead! No! His father couldn't be dead! Not him! He looked down at his hands. They were red. His entire body was red. Blood red.. an earsplitting scream pierced the air…**_

And Miles Edgeworth opened his eyes.


	2. Worthless

45 days. He had been a resident of the von Karma manor for 1080 hours. 64,800 minutes. 3,888,000 seconds. It seemed like so much longer, as the days seemed to drag on when he was here. He spent his days in the library, the only room in which sunlight was even slightly visible through the single window on the wall. He missed the sunshine. Or rather, he missed being outside. The workers here all had direct orders not to let him leave the house under any circumstances. Direct orders from Manfred von Karma, who, in Miles' month and a half of living in his home, had not once been seen by him.

Not once.

Sure, he'd seen von Karma in court, once… that day. He had never actually met the man, and, quite frankly, never really wanted to. As he was exploring the manor during the first few days, he had noticed that there was hardly anyone living there. There were only the workers, and none of them had any idea where 'Mr. von Karma' was. He could still be in America for all they knew. Also during his investigation, Miles realized that there were no rooms that looked like they might belong to a child, and there were no family photographs on any of the walls. He had concluded that von Karma had no family of his own. That's what he thought, anyway.

For the hundredth time, Miles' eyes scanned the titles of the large books on the long wooden bookshelves in the library. He ran his fingers across the bindings, sending dust particles off into the air. It hadn't taken long for Miles to confirm that every single book in there was about law. Books on prosecuting, court procedures, etc. filled up the shelves. But there was not a single one that would help him succeed in becoming a defense attorney. Another problem: all the books were in German. Miles was slowly teaching himself the language by attempting to read one of the law books. He was on page 3.

That afternoon, after deciding to return to attempting to read the book he had previously given up on, he heard a low thumping sound coming from outside the large double doors leading to the library. It was a sound he had never heard before, and sounded similar to knocking on wood. I wasn't loud, but the house was always so silent that any noise could be heard, no matter how small. About a minute after he decided to ignore it and go back to trying to remember what 'widersprechen' meant, the thumping was replaced with low murmurings. People were speaking right outside the door.

Miles' 9 year old boy instincts took over as he slowly crept over and pressed his ear to the door.

"--expect there have been no problems following my instructions?"

"No-none Herr von Karma, none at all…"

Miles' breathing stopped as he pressed his ear harder to the door, straining to hear every last word.

"Does he know?" The deeper voice of the two, which Miles assumed belonged to Manfred von Karma, was soft yet menacing. Miles shivered, feeling sorry for the other man, whoever he was, and was surprised to hear him chuckle.

"Sir, I highly doubt he would still be here if he knew."

"And the workers…?"

"Assume you are still in America, sir. I… I told them exactly what you told me to… s-sir."

Miles frowned. None of this was making any sense. Why was von Karma's location such a big secret? He was just about to turn away from the door when von Karma's next words stopped him in his tracks.

"There will be no need for you to lie to them anymore, Herr Abendroth. I will be returning to America first thing tomorrow."

Both Miles and Abendroth stood in silent shock, on separate sides of the door.

"B-but, sir!" Abendroth stammered. "Why would you-?"

"What's the use of staying here?" snapped von Karma. "You're the only person who knows I'm here, and, trust me Abendroth, you aren't the best company."

"F-fine," he spoke softly now, his irritation evident from his tone. "But are you planning to speak to… um… Miles Edgeworth before you leave?" Miles jumped slightly as this complete stranger said his name. "I mean, who knows how long you'll be gone? Weeks… months even! I'm sure he's wondering why-…" he broke off and started again. "What I meant to say was, he might get suspicious."

Von Karma laughed once. "Not as suspicious as he'd be if he saw this."

A pause.

"You're right, Herr von Karma. Of course you're right. But what about… Franziska? She _is_ your daughter, and she hasn't seen you since before you left for American _last_ time! How do you think she'll feel if-"

"She'll get over it," von Karma said simply. "Now, where is Miles Edgeworth?" Miles jumped again at the sound of his name.

"I-I don't…"

"Are you telling me you don't KNOW where he is??? Was it NOT part of my instructions to watch him???"

"No! No, of course it was! I-I'll go find him now, s-sir!"

He heard footsteps quickly moving away, followed by the same thumping sound as before. After 30 seconds, he raised a shaking hand to open the door, grateful that it didn't squeak, and even more grateful that von Karma was already almost all the way down the long hallway. Miles stared at his retreating back for a minute. Manfred von Karma was wearing a blue suit similar to the one he wore in court. One arm was clutching a long wooden cane which was the source of the low thumping sound. But it was the other arm, the right arm, that was causing Miles to stare. The shoulder was wrapped in large white bandages. He was holding his arm stiffly as he walked, as though he was afraid to move it. Before von Karma turned the corner, Miles turned and, as quietly as possible, sprinted in the opposite direction. He ran down the long hallway and up two flights of stairs, not looking back. He finally reached the door that led to his room, surprised that he had found it without getting lost. That was a first. He turned the doorknob, expecting to find the room exactly as he had left it so he could just sit down on the un-made bed and think about what he had just overheard. What he didn't expect was to come face to face with a glaring, blue-haired, 2-year-old girl. And yet, there she was when he opened the door. They stared at each other. Neither moving. Neither blinking. The small clock on the wall ticked quietly in the background. The seconds ticked by. When it became apparent that Miles had lost the staring contest, he turned around to close the door and flip the light switch. He turned back to face her to find that she was no longer glaring, but staring at him with large questioning eyes. He knew he would have to say something sooner or later or the ticking of the clock was going to drive him insane.

"Uh, hi?"

Silence.

She blinked at him.

Um… I'm Miles Edgeworth. I don't… believe… we've… met?" The sentence came out as a question. Something about the way she was staring at him was making him nervous. Why was a little girl not even 1/3 his age making him nervous? Maybe he _was_ going insane after all….

She continued to ignore him. He began to wonder if she only spoke German. But he couldn't for the life of him remember a single word of the language. She was glaring at him again.

"So…um… what are you… doing here?" he asked timidly.

This was obviously the right thing to say, because something flashed in her eyes and she began to speak quickly, formally, and, thankfully, in English.

"What am _I_ doing here? I think a better question would be, what are _you_ doing here? My papa never mentioned you were coming here!"

…Maybe it was the wrong thing to say after all.

"Your… papa?"

"Yes. The legendary Manfred von Karma. Someday I'm going to be a prosecutor just like him!" She looked up at him, smirking.

"That's… nice." So _this_ was Franziska.

She was studying him again, so he studied her back.

For the most part, she looked like a normal 2 year old girl. She was wearing one of those overly frilly and lacy dresses that only look good on kids her age. She had long silvery- blue hair that reached halfway down her back and her eyes, which seemed to be frozen into a glare, were the same color. He wondered momentarily why he hadn't seen her before.

"Why are you here?" she asked again.

"Well… you see… I-"

"You look to young and foolish to be a worker here. Usually-"

"No! I'm not here to work! I-"

"_Don't_ interrupt me, Miles Worthless."

"It's… Edgeworth," he mumbled, not even bothering to point out that _she_ had interrupted _him _first.

"I don't care. Miles _Edge_worthless, if you hope to keep your job here you had better treat this place with a little more respect. Look at this place! It's a mess!"

They both looked around the room. Honestly, Miles couldn't see what was so messy about it. The only things he noticed were that the bed was unmade and one of the books on the side table had somehow been knocked onto the floor. That was it. Franziska glared at the book, then at him, somehow managing to stare him down from her small height of 2-and-a-half feet.

"Look!" said Miles exasperatedly. "I'm not here to work! I don't _have_ a job here! I'm here because…" he paused. To tell the truth, he wasn't particularly sure why he was here. "… I don't have anyplace else to go," he admitted finally. "My father was sho- um… he… passed away a few weeks ago," he corrected himself lamely. He didn't think he should be talking about guns and murders with a toddler.

Franziska's eyes softened slightly. But she did not look sorry. Nor did she say she was.

"So… you are here to be a prosecutor, then?"

Her question took him off guard. What on earth would make her think that?

"Erm… no. I'm going to be a defense attorney, just like my father!" He was surprised to hear that he had spoken in the same tone that Franziska had when she mentioned that she was going to be a prosecutor like _her_ father.

Silence.

***SMACK***

Miles took a step back in surprise. Had she just… hit him???

"What was _that_ for?!?!?"

"You're wrong, Miles Edgeworth.

_Huh? Well, __that__ was an unexpected reply. _

"What do you-"

"You _are_ worthless. Any person who FOOLISHLY wants to defend FOOLISH criminals just like their FOOLISH defense attorney father is WORTHLESS!"

"M…my father isn't… I'm not… you…" he spluttered, unable to form a simple sentence.

"And I will be speaking to my father about you when he returns from America. _Dummkopf!_" she spat. She then stomped past him and out the door, slamming to door behind her.

Miles was in such shock after Franziska's little speech that at first he wasn't aware of the sharp pain on the back of his leg. There was a long red cut there that was bleeding slightly, almost as if it had been slashed with a sharp knife or whipped. But Franziska hadn't been holding a knife… or a whip. Had she? He was too busy thinking about what she had just said to remember clearly…

"_Any person who FOOLISHLY wants to defend FOOLISH criminals just like their FOOLISH defense attorney father is WORTHLESS!"_

Was what she had said true? Had his father really defended… criminals? He knew for a fact that some prosecutors purposely prosecuted innocent people. They just didn't care. His father has told him so himself just a few months ago. But… did defense attorneys do the same thing? Would they knowingly defend guilty people, just so they could win? He didn't believe so. At least, his father would never do that. And neither would Miles. But he would still be a great defense attorney.

One that would have made his father proud.

--

That night was the first night on over a month that he had the dream. The second time overall. The first time had been when he was in the hospital. He had been trying to avoid having the dream every night since the incident by reading before bed. It kept his mind busy, and he usually woke in the morning with the lights still on, and the book lying across in chest, having slept dreamlessly through the night.

But his earlier conversation with Franziska had kept him up until the early hours of the morning thinking about his father, the gunshot that had taken his life, and the person who had pulled the trigger.

Unfortunately, the truth behind who had pulled the trigger became clear after the more recent dream...

_It was darker than last time. Almost pitch black. Somehow he knew that this wasn't a normal dream. It was a memory. A memory… of a murder._

"_Help! I can't breathe!"_

"_Quiet! I said quiet! You're not making this any easier!"_

"_I want to get out! Help! Get us out!"_

"_Don't shout! You'll just use up more oxygen!"_

"_I can't breathe! You're using up all my air!"_

"_What?!?"_

"_Stop breathing my air! I'll stop you!"_

"_Ah! What? What are you…?!?"_

"_Stop. Breathing. My. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaair!!!!!!!!!"_

_The room… no, the elevator, he corrected himself, was no longer pitch black. He was sitting in the corner, and his father and the bailiff were on the opposite side. The bailiff… he was pretty sure his name was Yanni Yogi… lunged at his father! _

_Miles looked around in a panic. He was attacking father! He saw a pistol sitting by his feet. A million thoughts rushed through his head. This pistol could be evidence from the trial… or belong to the bailiff. But the only thing he was worried about at the moment was his father. And he would do anything to save him. _

_Anything. _

_The elevator was growing darker now. He picked up the pistol and threw it with all his might…_

_**Bang!**_

"_Aghhhhhhhhhhhh!"_

_**Darkness**_

Miles sat up straight in bed, the scream still ringing in his ears, echoing in his head. He felt wet. His heart beat faster as he remembered the 'dream' he had had while he was in the hospital, where he had been covered in blood. He quickly flipped on the light switch, giving his eyes time to adjust to the brightness, and ran over to the mirror on the wall. Sweat was pouring down his face, and his eyes were wide and panicked.

He walked over to the bed and sat down on it with his head in his hands, shaking with tearless sobs. He had been hoping he would never have that awful dream again. But now that he had, he knew the truth. And he knew that the truth would continue to haunt him for the rest of his life.

He had killed his father.


End file.
